Interlude One Heart On a Sleeve
by restive nature
Summary: Part of the Warrior Souls arc. Complete. Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.
1. To Bear My Soul

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)

Restive Nature

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor. The song, "Looking For It" belongs to Jann Arden.

Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".

Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.

Chapter One

To Bear My Soul

"No, no it's no problem," Wes muttered into the telephone. He rubbed one hand over his weary brow as he continued to listen to the apologies coming from his employer. The day had been full of calls such as these. Wes, can you do this? Wes, can you do that? Not that he minded. It was a nice thing, to be appreciated, to be useful. But sometimes, one just needed a break. But it seemed that today was not to be that day. First Cordelia had called, telling Wes that she was going to be late. He never asked why and didn't bother. Ever since Max and Angel had gone on their honeymoon, she'd been acting strangely, for her. The fun loving Cordy they knew that was tempered by the seriousness of her calling in life seemed to be slipping away again. 

And then Fred had had some sort of emergency and needed Wes to handle some file details of a case they'd almost finished wrapping up. That was easy enough to handle, had Angel not called. Their flight from Heathrow was going to be delayed due to bad weather. Wes understood that, but was slightly irked by the number of times he had to explain that to the friends that kept calling. Each wanting to know if the happy couple had made it home yet. 

Things seemed to be piling up on his plate. He would have turned to Giles for a little help, but the man had shrugged off the responsibility. He claimed New Council business, giving the younger man a slightly embarrassed, guilty look. Wes couldn't tell if it were because the man was lying to him, or just trying to spare his feelings. 

"Yes Angel," he sighed. "I'll try to arrange something." He paused to listen to the gratitude. So easily given, so hollowly meant. He said his own farewells and set the phone down again. Wes stiffened some, feeling very much like some lackey that was constantly ordered about. It seemed as if everyone thought that running around for others was his only strength. And maybe in the past it had. But he'd grown much stronger, more devious and certainly much braver since his first early days as a Rogue Demon Hunter. 

Just thinking about that self-appointed title made him smile. He certainly had a lot to learn. And he'd managed by the side of one of history's most infamous Vampire's, a self-absorbed half-demon Seer and a host of others that all had their strengths. But it had taken Wes so much time to find his strength. And in all honesty, he was still looking. 

Courage was one. If only marginally. It was more the firm belief that something needed to be done; there was no one else to do it, so they were required to step up. It had taken time to push away his fears and paranoia and be able to stand on his own, with no back up. And if he was still so scared that he nearly wet himself on some occasions, at least he had the tiny comfort that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Every act of bravery was stored away in his mind, to be perused and used to bolster him when he felt himself faltering. So perhaps it wasn't courage. Just a need to prove himself and doing so in a manner which provided accolades of an amazed sort. For very many times, the response was in the nature of 'what the hell are you people!' 

Research. His true strength. Something that was his alone. Well, until Giles and Willow had shown up. The others all preferred action to sitting and working things out logically. Granted there wasn't much need when Cordelia gave them the order. For the most part, her visions were if not clear, detailed enough to get the action started. But when they needed answers, why, what, how come, there was Wes. But really, research was just something he'd learned at school. Any student properly taught could learn as much. It was just the manner of retaining knowledge, training the mind to remember. So no, his excellence at research was not his biggest asset. 

He was British, hadn't been brought up to be all touchy-feely, as the girls put it. He was more likely to fix a bracing cuppa and mull over the problem before deciding on a course of action. Which of course, usually turned into a few more cuppas until the need to visit the bathroom overwhelmed whatever problem had driven one to drink the blasted tea in the first place. 

Wes sighed again, pulling a pad of paper over to write a few notes for what needed to be done this day. It would help him focus. And get these things done. And when accomplished, could be promptly forgotten by those he had done them for. He frowned at the paper, seeing his note to himself from yesterday. _'Call father'_ he had written in careful, neat strokes in the upper corner, small letters. Perhaps he was hoping he wouldn't notice it there, tucked away. But he had and he did. 

And he should have known better. Telephone calls were the easiest communications between the Wyndham-Pryce men. And as they were fraught with politely worded accusations, recriminations and disappointment on both sides, that was saying a lot. But some of the things his father had said stuck with him, fueling this moment of introspection. He knew he shouldn't fall prey to it. But when the man that helped give life to him, brought up his imagined failures, it led Wes to think about his true failures. And he had a lot of them. 

He could console himself that he wasn't the only one in their motley group of evil fighters. And certainly not the worst of them. But it was his heart that carried the burden multiplying it beyond belief. Logically, he knew the others were the same way. Someone else's grief was manageable, understandable, but when it came to their own, no one else understood. But even if he knew this, it still didn't change how he felt. 

***** 

When evening fell, Wes felt as if he'd run a marathon. Or had gone a round with a demon or two. He was worn out when he arrived back at his apartment. Normally he enjoyed the stillness, the quiet of his sanctuary. It was a step removed from the world he lived in, his place alone. But lately, it felt as if life had been intruding here as well. Case in point, the blinking red light on the answering machine that was a priority for living in LA. Or pretty much anywhere in the world. Couldn't ever be unavailable, especially in their precarious line of work. 

With crisp movements, he put away the few groceries he'd managed to pick up, removed his shoes and lined them up precisely by the door and stalked to the machine, one finger depressing the replay button with an annoyed jab. He stood, waiting. No point in sitting down, to relax when he had the sense that whatever message waiting for him would just agitate him in his current state of mind. 

It was Cordy, babbling about another vision. Wes listened, he always did, but his mind was cataloging the details in some part where he could draw the information when needed. The other part of his mind was asking why. When would it be enough? When would they let him rest? And then the message ended. He tried to take a deep calming breath, but the next message began. From Gunn this time. The other man spoke in teasing tones about coming to pick Wes up so that the other man could hold their coats while they dealt with Cordelia's vision demon. Friendly banter such as had grown between them from friendship and shared fights against similar baddies. But Wes was too tired to recognize it for what it was. 

At the moment, he wasn't up to dealing with more fighting, more of anything. He'd already felt like he'd done too much. So the easiest solution was to be gone when they arrived. If he wasn't, they'd just guilt him into going. When evil never rested, neither did the superheroes. And that was how he ended up at Caritas.

He cursed to himself when he saw Spike at the bar. He'd momentarily forgotten that the Slayer was working there now. And the blonde had seen him as well, so there was no avoiding it. He'd chosen Caritas simply for the reason that no one would ask anything of him there. Oh, Lorne might enjoy having him sing, if he were a better singer perhaps. But the green faced demon wouldn't object to him simply sitting with a pint and watching the various patrons come and go. 

And since Cordy had a good handle on where the latest demon was, it was a safe bet they wouldn't come here looking for guidance. So Wes approached the bar, trying to lean casually against it as Spike stepped up. 

"What'll you have mate?" the blonde asked genially. 

"Whatever you have on tap is fine," Wes shrugged. Spike nodded and filled a glass. He pushed it across the bar as Wes pulled his wallet from his pants. 

"Never figured you for the karaoke type," Spike grinned as he took the money and rang it through the till. He turned back with the change and Wes grimaced. 

"I'm not really," he shrugged, then decided to attend the details as he always did. "Cordelia called earlier about a demon." He proceeded to fill Spike in on said details. He finished up and caught the thoughtful look on the Slayer's face. Misunderstanding, he backpedaled a little. After all, Spike and Buffy were content to let the AI team handle the demons. "Don't worry," he offered. "If you haven't the time, I'm sure Angel can deal with it tomorrow. After he's home."

"It's no problem," Spike offered in a strained voice. He caught the eye of another patron and moved off to continue working. 

Wes sighed and lifted his glass. "Cheers," he offered to the mirror behind the bar. He took a deep pull of the beer and set it down neatly, precisely, on the coaster that had been provided. He watched as the condensation rolled down the warm glass, puddling at the bottom, to leave a ring on the thin paper. Was he like this condensation? Slowly melting away from the main focus, the beer, just to leave a weak mark that would be thrown away when it was no longer useful. Wes grinned suddenly and took another gulp. 

He'd almost gone too far. Certainly, he wasn't one to air his most private feelings in public. But he certainly recognized them in himself and others. And he was quite on the verge of dropping off a deep end with no hope of a life preserver in sight. He needed help. He stared at himself, realizing that and in his inane sudden twist, heard applause swelling. _'Now that's gone too far old boy,'_ he chastised himself. _'Imagining applause for realizing you've lost the plot.'_

It took a moment to recall where exactly he was, flushing at his stupidity. Of course he wasn't being applauded. He'd never been applauded in this place. Unless it was the grudgingly polite kind. He decided finally to find a table and try to snag Lorne when he could. He didn't necessarily need to sing tonight. But conversation with an unbiased, for the most part, bystander couldn't hurt. And a few more beers wouldn't either. 

He played with the edge of the glass as the next singer's voice slowly filtered in to his consciousness. The woman, with a low, husky voice, was singing in French. Wes grimaced as he mentally translated the words. 

*Je mordrai la main qui alimente la douleur

J'étendrai ma vie vers le bas pour l'amour

J'ai perdu la vérité

Je me suis égaré

Je le recherche

Ah, je le recherche maintenant

Je le recherche

Oh je me recherche

It was lovely, the slow way she sang it. He'd heard it before, once long ago, in it's native English. Some Canadian singer, if he'd recalled correctly. He'd liked the song, how the singer spoke of trying to find truth. Trying to find what she'd lost. It felt a little like himself at the moment. He grinned again. How amazingly cliched that was. Just as he decided he needed help, needed to stop feeling as if he were all alone in the world, he'd found a kindred soul. The woman continued to sing and Wes listened. When she was done, he added his applause to the others, watching as the slim blonde glanced over at the green skinned demon, a look of utter, naked longing crossed her face. 

Wes followed her glance and saw Lorne standing near the edge of the stage. The Anagogic demon sighed heavily and shook his head. Wes glanced back to see the blonde give a quick jerk of her chin before descending from the stage. She wove her way gracefully through the crowd, people easily moving out of her way. Wes glanced once more at Lorne to find the demon watching him with a thoughtful eye. He nodded forcibly at the woman that was now ascending the staircase that would take her out of the unconcerned Brit's life. 

*Translation

I'll bite the hand that feeds the pain

I'll lay my life down for love

I lost the truth

I lost my way

I am looking for it

Oh I am looking for it now

I am looking for it

Oh I am looking for myself


	2. Un Ange N’a Aucune Armure

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)  
  
Restive Nature  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor.  
  
Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".  
  
Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.  
  
Chapter One (Coincides with EotH Chapter 17: Bearer Of Bad News)  
  
Un Ange N'a Aucune Armure  
  
Wes groaned lowly as the sunlight filtering into his bedroom finally pierced his brain. The lingering effects of his hangover rolled over him and he once again cursed himself for taking the coward's way of dealing with his depression. Depression, while not very attractive on a person, was nothing to compare with depression bolstered by drunkenness. He vaguely recalled Lorne finally having convinced him to sing the previous evening. Wes had conceded just out of curiosity's sake. He already knew what was wrong with him. But it had been a welcome comfort to have someone to trade ideas with to bring himself out of his recent funk. And Lorne, for all his mysticism, took a very practical route in his advice.  
  
'You're fading bro,' Lorne had intoned as he ordered another round for the small table they were at. 'You've been letting things pile up on your shoulders. Let some of it go before it drowns you sugar plum.'  
  
It was, technically speaking, good advice. But unfortunately for Wes, Lorne had in no way offered precisely how to do said letting go. There were some burdens that Wes would carry in his mind forever, unable to completely shed the mantle of his responsibility. Whether it was to himself, his family, friends or others completely. And neither was he able to deny that it was not just the responsibility, but the guilt, whether real or imagined that weighed more heavily than anything else.  
  
Lorne had left him then, returning to his duties as The Host. Wes continued to nurse his beer until it was nearly closing time. Lorne had taken pity on him and called him a cab. But before the cabbie had arrived, Lorne led him to the door of the club and told him that he had an idea of what Wes could do to resolve his problem. If he cared to learn how, he'd return to the club the next evening.  
  
But the clammy, fuzzy feeling coating Wes' tongue made him seriously rethink that promise. Certainly, as an Englishman, he could hold more than his share of warm beer. But he was getting to that point where it was the not the choice of could he do so, but did he want to do so. Wes eased a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the lingering ache centered between his eyes. He sighed deeply, realizing that he would find no answers to any of his questions lying about his bed.  
  
He dreaded facing Cordelia the moment he entered the Hyperion. As well he should have, as she was right there, in his face to lambaste him for not responding to her call for help. He brushed her aside with the assertion that it wouldn't have been the first time that it had happened and as she was still here, it mattered little. Cordy naturally went into a screeching rant about how little Wes valued her as a co-worker and friend. He backpedaled and tried to reassure her that he of course didn't mean that, but she would not be deterred. He glanced about helplessly, only to see Gunn smirking at him. Wes pleaded with him silently, but Gunn held up his hands as if to say 'you got yourself into this, I ain't gonna rescue you!'  
  
Even as he opened his mouth to try and make amends, a sudden lump lodged in his throat. He stared in consternation at the woman before him. It had taken a long time for them to move beyond what had occurred between them in Sunnydale, the differences in their personalities, to become a cohesive unit bolstered by friendship. But it stung him to the core now that even after all these years together, she still didn't see him as anything more than a personal whipping boy. His spine stiffened as a resolution snapped into place.  
  
"Enough whining Cordelia," he ground out. "I didn't say that I was unconcerned about your welfare. All I'm saying is that when you called last night about your vision, I was in no way prepared to deal with it. So I took the liberty of making arrangements for it to be handled."  
  
"Oh and I bet that worked out really well," Cordy rolled her eyes. She was still too caught up in her venom to notice the warning tone in his voice.  
  
"I wouldn't know about that," he remarked in a clipped tone. "I informed Spike of the demon and he assured me that he could deal with it. That was our arrangement with him, was it not?"  
  
"And he did take care of it," another voice called out. Wes spun around as everyone else glanced at the direction the voice came from.  
  
"Max!" Fred cried out, delighted to see her friend, especially so early in the day. But then, that was normal for one who had abnormal sleeping patterns. There was a rush to greet her, giving hugs and receiving them. Wes hung back a little, as did Gunn, knowing better than to get in a woman's way when it concerned a friend. But finally it was their turn. Gunn asked after Angel and Eva and Max explained that they were still sleeping.  
  
With a wry smile, Wes opened his arms as Max neared him and she wrapped her arms around his waist in an easy, comforting manner. He hugged her briefly, then let her loose as she shifted her stance. But to his surprise, she didn't let him loose, rather, she stood at his side, one arm still looped about his waist. With delight, he left one arm about her shoulders as they faced the others.  
  
"Is dad up yet?" she asked quickly, glancing about the lobby.  
  
"Haven't hear a peep from him," Gunn smiled. "But I can go check if ya like?" Max nodded and the young man jogged off towards Giles' rooms.  
  
"What did you mean before?" Cordy asked suspiciously surprised at Max's behavior with Wes. It was obvious that Wes was the most reserved person of their motley ragtag group, and Max was not one to be overly physical with her friends in such a manner. She couldn't see that Max had recognized Wesley's need for emotional support and had responded to it out of instinct.  
  
"Just what I said Cor," Max chuckled. "Spike was here last night when we got home. Wes told him about the demon, he tracked it and killed it. It's in a cave at the beach not far from their house, so we'll have a little clean-up to do." She smiled up at Wes, acting for the entire world that it was some brilliant plan of his devising that had signaled the demise of the beast.  
  
"Oh, okay," Cordy replied, her eyes still burning curiously at the new behavior. But the phone rang and she was in the mood to answer it and deal with something else. Fred as well returned to the desk, to take up whatever project she'd been at before Wes had arrived.  
  
"Are you okay?" Max asked softly, obviously trying not to let the others catch the concern underlying the question.  
  
"I'm quite all right," Wes shrugged. Max stared at him for a moment. Her piercing gaze penetrated his hastily constructed defenses and Wes knew that there was no way for him to fool her.  
  
"Really?"  
  
He sighed and his fingers fidgeted with his glasses for a moment. He glanced away, to see Gunn and Giles descending the grand staircase. Max followed his eyes and turned her head as well. She waved at her father, but made no move to go to him. "All right, no I am not fine. But I will be."  
  
"Okay," she nodded. "But if you ever need to talk Wes..." she trailed off, leaving no doubt as to the openness of her invitation.  
  
"I know," he assured her. She smiled brilliantly up at him before giving him one last friendly squeeze and moved off to effusively greet her father. Wes watched her, his head cocked to the side. 'How is it that the person who has known me the least amount of time out of them all, knows me so much better?'  
  
Despite what had happened the evening before, Wes took to heart Max's concern for him and so returned to Caritas that night. He knew that if his behavior was affecting even her, then something was drastically wrong with him. And in a strange way, he really didn't want to let Max down. Nor did he really want to burden her with his trivialities. Although, being the newcomer in his world, she was without the memories and bias that the others carried about some of his previous behavior. He promised himself that if this new idea of Lorne's didn't pan out, then he'd talk to Max.  
  
This time however, when the bartender asked what he wanted, he simply ordered a soft drink. It made no difference to the employee of the club. He was paid the same whether alcohol was involved or not. Wes caught Lorne's eye and gestured to the table he'd sat at before. Lorne acknowledged him and held up one finger to let Wes know that he'd be with him in a moment. After the latest demon had sung and been advised, Lorne wove his way through the crowd to take a moment's breather.  
  
"Here I am," Wes opened dumbly.  
  
"Yes," Lorne agreed mildly as he took the seat opposite the Brit. "I'm so glad you clarified that. I was afraid for a moment that my drink was spiked." He laughed at his own joke and Wes' eyes flickered over to the blonde Slayer. Even through the press of bodies at the bar, Wes could see that Spike was definitely off in his own little world, and not looking too happy about it. There was a feeling of solidarity there, making Wes feel as if he weren't the only one in his lonely little boat. But he dismissed the notion as Lorne began to speak again. "I'm glad you came back."  
  
"Oh, how so?"  
  
"Well," Lorne drawled. "It occurred to me that sometimes the best way to deal with our problems is to quit giving them so much credence."  
  
A viable theory," Wes agreed. "But how would you suggest going about such a thing."  
  
"Simple," Lorne shrugged an elegantly, if brightly clad shoulder. "Focus on someone else's problems. Then maybe yours won't seem so big."  
  
"And I suppose you have someone in mind?" Wes was beginning to catch on. Lorne nodded, gesturing to the doorway. Wes glanced back, immediately recognizing the blonde that had sung so sweetly in French the evening before. "And who is she?" he asked disinterestedly.  
  
"That's just it. No one knows," Lorne chuckled, lifting his ever present Seabreeze to his lips. He took a small sip, swallowed, then grimaced, his eyes flickering once more to Spike. But the blonde Slayer still didn't notice, or care. Lorne turned back to Wes. "She's here, same time, every night we're open. She comes, she sings, she leaves."  
  
"And you're unable to help her?" Wes asked, even though he knew the answer already. He recalled the evening before, when Lorne had refused her with a shake of his head. And then the blonde had left.  
  
"It's not for me to do," Lorne sighed. "Let me tell you, all I see is her past regrets." He glanced around before whispering conspiratorially; "she hasn't a future for me to read."  
  
"Really?" Wes moved forward, his mind engaged despite himself. This was too intriguing for his ever-working brain to pass up. "Just her?" he ascertained, recalling another similar case that he hadn't been privy too during one of his sojourns into unemployment. Lorne nodded. "Is she a demon?" was his next question.  
  
"Not quite," Lorne smiled. He glanced back at the blonde, impeccably dressed in a black business suit, opened to reveal a sky blue tank top. Her short, spiky blonde hair flashed under the club lights. Her face, while not young, held few lines to lend certainty to her age, but her eyes were dark and fathomless pools of pain. He supposed that some humans might consider her attractive. "I believe the nom d'affection for her was...bitch." He chuckled again at Wes' raised eyebrow. "Just wait, you'll see."  
  
With that, Lorne rose from his seat. He took up a position beside the stage and nodded for the blonde to begin. Again she took up her place in the center of the stage, assessing the crowd with the cool gaze of one that was often in this position. Wes admired her stance, cool, unconcerned and completely in control. He leaned forward; his elbows resting on the tabletop as her smoky voice took up the lilting tones of French as one born to it. He listened to the song, the same that she had sung last night. When she finished, she stepped back in the lull she had created, then proceeded to ignore the swell of applause. She looked to Lorne and the green demon shook his head sadly. She heaved a small sigh and slowly descended from the stage. Wes watched as the woman left the club, her body moving easily out of the way of others. He turned back to Lorne as the anagogic spoke to the next performer, then introduced it to the crowd. As the music began, Lorne grabbed up a napkin and scribbled something on it. He approached Wes, throwing it on the table.  
  
"Go to that address and maybe we'll both get some answers," the demon instructed. Wes nodded, stuffing the napkin in his jacket pocket. He swallowed the last gulp of his soda and rose to follow the woman into the night.  
  
Wes found the address easily enough. It was a cemetery. And he groaned at that. So many theories were running through his mind, trying to recall the many things esoteric that he was familiar with. Unfortunately, he didn't have an encyclopedic memory and knew that there were a million more possibilities of what he might be dealing with. As he exited the car, he carefully extracted a stake from underneath his car seat. He stuck it in his jacket, sighing at the rudimentary weapon. Hopefully it would serve in whatever predicament he found himself in. He locked the car, depositing the keys in his pocket and crept past the slightly askew iron wrought gates.  
  
A flash of blonde hair was his first clue, until he realized that it in no way could be the mystery woman, unless she was some sort of shape shifter that had taken on the persona of the Slayer. Even as he thought it, he watched the young woman shudder slightly. Wes grimaced momentarily. Naturally, that would be too easy a path to be laid at his feet. "Buffy!" he called, but the woman made no response. He approached carefully, but somewhat noisily. Knowing the far-reaching ability of her ears, he made no effort to soften his footfalls as he approached her. He called her name again, but still there was nothing.  
  
Wes wove his way through the headstones, slightly proud of the way Buffy had given herself over to whatever had drawn her attention, even as his Watcher's training criticized this behavior. It was an easy way for a Slayer to get herself killed. But when she whirled on him, her foot connecting with his chest in a perfectly executed kick, he reminded himself dryly that he hadn't been that excellent of a Watcher. It only took a moment to shake that thought off as he contemplated the sensation of a bony appendage lodged between his legs and the stake poised over his chest.  
  
"Oh God Wes!" the woman shrieked. Wes fought the urge to scramble back and cross his legs. Really, it was a little much for any male to deal with and to his great relief, she hurried away from him, stuffing her stake into it's secure location Once done, she held out her hand to him. "Are you okay?" she asked as he arched an eyebrow at her hand. The hand that was ready to end his existence a moment ago. No he bloody well wasn't all right. "What are you doing here?" she babbled on, betraying the embarrassment at what she had almost done. Wes forgave her immediately for it. He'd many times been in a similar predicament. He set his hand in hers and she yanked him easily to his feet. As Wes regarded her, he was reminded fiercely of her behavior in high school. Hell, the entire time he knew her. She always seemed to him a little flighty. That is until it was time to get down to business. And if she was flighty now, then he had little to worry about. But he did resist the urge to clean his glasses.  
  
"I was," he paused, wondering how she would take his real excuse for being in the cemetery. "Well, honestly," he cleared his throat, glancing back at the ground. "I was trying to prevent just that from happening." He almost chuckled at the tinge of red that swept over her cheeks.  
  
"You should know better than to sneak up on a Slayer," Buffy chided him in a lecturing tone, as Wes began to brush himself off.  
  
"I didn't sneak!" he proclaimed indignantly, his head shooting up to stare at her. She didn't quite seem to believe him, which rankled a little. "Really. I called your name and made as much noise as possible as I approached."  
  
"Uh huh," Buffy murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
"I did," Wes protested vehemently. "It's not my fault you weren't paying attention."  
  
"Me?" the Slayer scoffed. "I was paying attention." She argued, but then bit her lower lip. Wes stared at her, falling back on the glare that he'd been trying to perfect of late, but with no success. But surprisingly, it seemed to work on Buffy. "I guess just not to you," she finally confessed. Wes' brow furrowed as he glanced around the placid cemetery.  
  
"And what were you concentrating on?" he wondered aloud.  
  
"It's nothing," Buffy finally dismissed, waving her hand, unconcerned. "Just a ghost on my grave."  
  
"That's odd," Wes grimaced. He wondered how much of a coincidence it was that Lorne had sent him to this graveyard just as Buffy had been patrolling it. That spoke simply of one thing. Perhaps this mystery woman of his was a Vampire.  
  
"So what are you doing here?" Buffy asked quickly, bringing Wes out of his silent musings.  
  
"Oh, well, er," Wes stammered, trying to decide whether or not to mention his new conundrum to the woman. But surely, if the woman was a Vampire, the Slayer was his best bet to find her, sensing them, as she could. "I was looking for someone," he admitted  
  
"In a graveyard?" she chuckled. "At night? Without a weapon?" Wes could hear the underlying chiding tone in her voice. It grated a little as he patted himself down, trying to remember where he'd stuffed his stake. He finally located the sharpened wood and pulled it forth. She gave a grudging little nod. "Was it a contact?"  
  
"No," Wes shook his head. "Not really." 'How could someone be a contact if you'd never had contact with him or her?' he wondered idly, but brought himself back to his task. "You didn't happen to see a blonde woman, probably early to mid forties pass by here?"  
  
"Uh uh," Buffy shook her head as well. "Nobody's been around for a while. Just you and me."  
  
"Well that's odd," Wes ruminated again. "I could have sworn... she came this way." He sighed and stuffed the stake back in its secret place, wondering if having no future meant that Lorne's information was invalid. Perhaps this was all a practical joke on him.  
  
"Who?" Buffy asked, startling him a little.  
  
"Oh, I don't know her," Wes chuckled candidly. Buffy grinned at him.  
  
"But you'd like to, huh?" she teased gently. Wes stared at her a moment, processing what she'd said, but before he could comment, she'd told him to never mind. "Well, have fun finding her. I'm going to head home."  
  
"You're not going to help me?" Wes asked incredulously. Of course, it occurred to him that he hadn't been very clear with his former Slayer and she really hadn't any reason to help him.  
  
"Wes," Buffy giggled, "I'm a Slayer, not a dating service." His eyes popped open a little wider, as he realized that she truly thought he was after a woman for, well reasons she wouldn't normally equate with him.  
  
"Oh no no," he grunted, pleased that one of his acquaintances actually saw him as more than a walking book. "It's nothing like that..." he trailed off, glancing away uncertainly, unsure if he wanted to admit that he was on a mission. Buffy just rolled her eyes.  
  
"All right you studly manly man," she sighed good-naturedly, grabbed his arm and heading back the way she'd came. "Let's go find your mystery woman."  
  
"Really," Wes protested as she dragged him through the neatly trimmed grass. "It's not like that."  
  
"What's not like what?" she asked cheerfully.  
  
"This woman I'm looking for," he began, trying to pull his arm loose.  
  
"Yeah about that," Buffy giggled as her eyes swept the graveyard. "What's she look like? 'Cause you know, with all the honeys running around, I might have a hard time picking her out." Wes stopped dead in his tracks and frowned at her. She turned back as he slipped loose from her.  
  
"Now there's no need for sarcasm," he growled. Her face was instantly contrite and he felt himself softening, before he caught it. He straightened up a little and tried to block the helplessness most men felt when dealing with that universally pouty face that women seemed to have. "Sorry," he muttered finally and was rewarded with a sunny smile. "It's just that Lorne directed me here to find her." With those words she was instantly all business.  
  
"Vampire?"  
  
"Not certain."  
  
"Okay, let's go."  
  
It took them a good long while to search the entire cemetery and by the end of it, once they'd gotten back to the main gate where his car was parked, he was quite frustrated. Buffy tried to offer little platitudes, but he felt as if he'd been sent on a wild goose chase. She finally gave up and said her good-byes to him. Wes straightened his coat and absently turned to pull the gate a little more securely shut behind him. When he turned back, his mouth fell open as there, standing right next to his car, was his mystery woman. He was about to call off Buffy when to his shock; the Slayer walked right through the apparition.  
  
The older blonde waited until Buffy was through her, then half turned to watch the petite Slayers progress away from her. "Damned rude kid," she growled to herself.  
  
Wes clearly heard her words and approached cautiously. No mere Vampire this! "So you are real?" he blurted out, thankful that she wasn't all in his imagination. The woman whirled around to face him, amazement evident in her wide eyes.  
  
"C-can you see me?" her voice choked out in a whisper.  
  
Un Ange N'a Aucune Armure - An Angel Has No Armor  
  
nom d'affection- name of affection 


	3. Ghost Of Herself

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)

Restive Nature

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor.

Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".

Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.

Chapter Three

Ghost Of Herself

The woman's, no, ghost's question stunned Wesley for a moment. It took seconds only to assimilate the fact that outside Caritas, he seemed to be the only one who could see her. Which was strange, really, considering that Buffy was the Slayer, more connected to the mystics, than he, Wesley was. And she certainly hadn't seen the pale woman. No, ghost.

"Of course I can see you," Wesley assured her, smiling grimly as he wondered what it was that Lorne had intended for him to do. And learn. He moved forward, his intrinsic politeness asserting himself. He held his hand out as he approached. "I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. And you are?"

The woman, ghost… woman glanced down at his outstretched hand, a small glimmer of wry amusement crossing her face. "I'm wondering what on earth you're thinking," she responded dryly. Wesley realized then, what an utter fool he must look and pulled his hand back quickly, conspicuously stuffing it into his coat pocket.

"Ah yes," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Naturally, when a corporeal being passes through a non-corporeal being, one would assume it holds true of all corporeal beings. Therefore shaking my hand is quite an absurd gesture."

"Naturally," she agreed after a moment's pause. Wesley had the feeling that she was just humoring him.

"But still," Wesley continued, the curious part of his analytical nature taking over, "unless you've conducted this experiment quite a number of times, perhaps it is only certain beings that can pass through you. After all, if I can see you, perhaps I can touch you." Again, she raised a single brow and he realized how badly his last statement could be taken. "Not that I meant touching like that!" he exclaimed, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I simply meant that… that, well, perhaps you're…" he trailed off before he could dig himself in any deeper. "You didn't answer my question, you know?" he accused, trying to take her attention off his blunder.

The woman, it felt much easier referring to her in that manner, he decided, simply shifted her stance slightly, crossing her arms, as if she weren't at all used to being questioned. "Does it matter?" she demanded bluntly. "It's not like I'm myself anymore, you know. Not the person I once was."

Wes stared off in the distance a moment, trying to ascertain why she was being stubborn about giving up her name. Perhaps she didn't remember it? Perhaps as a ghost she felt like she no longer had the right to a personality. To something that had made her human. The last thought, while quite a projected assumption, seemed to Wes to make the most sense. "I wouldn't necessarily say that's so," he argued. "There's quite a bit of contention about ghosts, or whatever have you. Perhaps the reason why you've not, well passed over is because you have some unfinished business with your life. Business that requires dealing with to the fullest extent before you may take that final step."

To his surprise, the blonde laughed the sound deep, throaty and the first sign of true amusement that Wesley had garnered in their short acquaintance. "That reminds me of an old movie I used to watch when I was a teen. What was it? Oh yes, Casper."

"Casper the Friendly Ghost?" Wes asked, surprised at himself that he could remember the name of a children's movie. "But that only came out a little over ten years ago. And Madam, forgive my bluntness, but you are well past the blush of youth."

"Yes, it just gets more confusing by the moment, doesn't it?" she agreed calmly.

"Mm, perhaps you'd like to explain it to me then?" Wes suggested his curiosity raging now, despite the earlier reluctance he'd felt about this assignment.

"Only if you reciprocate by telling me what your stake in this is," the blonde countered coolly.

Wes nodded quickly. "Absolutely, Miss…?"

"Renfro, Elizabeth Renfro."

There was a slight disagreement over whether or not to take Wes' car. Elizabeth was quite adamant in her assertion that she could not make physical contact with things outside of Caritas. And to prove her point, she ran her hand through Wes' elbow, chuckling at his nervous yelp at the sensation. So they walked about aimlessly. At first, the woman didn't offer much, but when Wes explained that Lorne had sent him to aide her, she saw the reasoning, that perhaps this man could help her when no other could. Not that she wanted help, aside from figuring out what the hell she was doing there in the first place.

"I was born in the south of France in 1980," she began, reasoning out that it was best to give him the bare bones of her life. She had only the slightest, niggling feeling of why her non-corporeal self was still wandering the earth. But being an analytical creature as well, she saw the justification of going into this long buried information. "My parents were not ready to deal with a young child. So I was often left with my maternal grandmother." Without realizing it, her voice softened somewhat at the mention of the other woman. Wes smiled at this, seeing the great difference it made from her initial ice queen demeanor. "I lived with her until I was ten years of age. My parents returned, as my father had found a position in the United States. I stayed here, in Los Angeles until I was sixteen. At which point my parents were killed in a motor vehicle accident. Custody was granted once again to my grandmother. I returned to France and lived there until I was twenty-two."

"One would assume that there's quite a bit more to the story than you are offering so far," Wes sighed. She gave him an odd look, but nodded.

"Quite a bit," she agreed. "But you'll forgive me my impatience. I've been searching for reasons and answers for a long time now. I'd like to get this over and done with as quickly as possible."

"Really?" he sneered. She was making a somewhat obvious statement to him. Added to the fact that something about the woman was preying on his mind. As if he should know her. It had taken about two city blocks of walking for him to recognize it and when he finally had, well now it was driving him mad. This sense that she was important to something in his mind. But he couldn't figure it out yet. "Go on."

"I graduated from college when I was twenty-two," she continued, as if he hadn't interrupted. "I had schooling in medicine, one of the things my grandmother encouraged me in. I returned to America to pursue more schooling. But in university, I was introduced to a brilliant man who eventually led me into my final career choice, the military. I spent many years working my way up into the upper echelons of that hierarchy and was finally assigned my own special project. I was killed, shot in 2020." She barely realized that Wes had stopped walking. She stopped as well, turning back to smile at his gaping form.

"Th-that's impossible," he stammered. "You do realize that this is the year 2005, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered simply. "I am aware of that."

"Then what's all this malarkey about 2020?" he demanded petulantly.

"That's what I'd like to know," Elizabeth's frown unsurprisingly matched his. Wes heaved a sigh; his mind working at the convoluted knot she'd presented him with.

"So, you claim you're from the future?" he asked unnecessarily. She didn't bother to reply. It was her claim and the truth whether he believed or not. "Quite a sensational idea. Especially on the grounds that I can't disprove it at this moment in time. Perhaps down the road, any information you give me could be found to be false."

"Why don't we just save time and you accept it as a working theory," Elizabeth interjected before Wesley could really get going. Like so many others around him, she had little patience for anything but the bare bones. But oddly, Wes wasn't really in the mood for making a long speech any more than she was ready to hear it.

"Fair enough," he agreed. He waited half a beat before asking, "would you tell me about your death? And how you came to be here?"

She shrugged, wrapping her arms about her waist in a slightly defiant, oddly vulnerable pose. "I told you, I was shot. I died. When I regained what you could call my consciousness, I was lying about that cemetery, wondering what the hell happened to me."

"Did you believe yourself to be alive when you woke up?" Wes asked, intrigued by the process. There weren't many people he could talk to of the subject of resurrection. The few people he did know were naturally reluctant to revisit that period in their lives.

"I suspected I was, at first," Elizabeth remarked with a grimace. "When I was shot, I went cold, all over. And it was a struggle, to breathe, to talk. I had a duty to fulfill. And once I did, I…"

"You what?" Wes could see the difficulty the woman had in admitting the details of something so intrinsically personal. Death, while alive was not an easy subject to converse on. But the dead's perspective on death was fascinating him.

"I gave up," she admitted bitterly, her face twisted. They continued walking. Wes had the sense to let the woman collect herself somewhat. And finally she began to speak again. "I suppose my first real clue that I was not living was the fact that I wasn't breathing. Of course, if I thought about it, my chest would rise and fall. Quite the mockery. Then there was the fact that I was neither warm nor cold. Quite temperate, depending of course on my surroundings."

"Really?" Wes breathed. Of all the tales he'd been told, the dead always had an icy feel to them and he'd felt that earlier in her touch. But of course, that made sense as even temperatures were often colder than a human's core temperature. Angel, when he'd been a Vampire, had always been cold to the touch, except when he was able to pick up large amounts of body heat radiating from large crowds, or on extremely hot days in the summer. But as he slept during the day and his crew did not disturb him at these times, they wouldn't have realized that there were times when he was quite warm. And it didn't bother him one way or the other because his body didn't need to regulate his heat for survival.

"And then there was the fact that I woke up in a completely different place than were I was shot," Elizabeth continued. "Many things about my situation just weren't adding up."

"What do you mean?" Wes puzzled. "Where were you shot? I mean geographically of course. Not physiologically."

"Just outside of Seattle, Washington," she blinked owlishly at him, surprised by his vehement reaction.

It all clicked together in his mind. The place, the year, Lorne's hint about her name. "Good Lord! You're the bitch!"


	4. Broken Angels Mending

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)

Restive Nature

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor.

Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".

Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected passenger to help lead him to peace.

Chapter Four

Broken Angels Mending

"Well there's a name that I haven't heard lovingly whispered behind my back for such a long time," Elizabeth sneered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Wes blushed as he realized precisely how she'd taken his words. But he needn't have worried, for Elizabeth was more astute than he gave her credit for. "And precisely how did you know that was what the kids used to call me?"

"Well," he hedged, unsure if he wanted to give Max's position in his life away. He'd heard a few tales from Max about what she, her siblings and co-soldiers had endured at the hands of this woman. But seeing the mulish expression on her face knew that nothing would be forthcoming from her if he didn't reciprocate. "I believe that I am acquainted with someone from your past life," he offered simply.

"Really?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "Who might that be?"

"And why would that be important to you?" Wes chuckled. "After all, you don't seem to believe your life is of any importance here. Just your death."

"Touché," she murmured. She seemed to square her shoulders, dropping her hands to plant them on her hips. "Apparently you're not going to hand over the information about this friend of yours. Whether this is habit with you, or out of the misguided fear that I'm somehow going to harm said friend, I don't know. Nor do I really care." Her lips thinned as she moved slightly closer to the paling Brit. "All I know is that I've been in this miserable form for a little over two years now and I am getting heartily tired of it. I want answers. And I will have them. And you'll help me, whether you want to or not."

"Now see here," Wes bristled under her smoky glare, finally irked enough to respond. For Heaven's sake, she was a ghost. She couldn't harm him. "I didn't say that I wouldn't lend my talents to discovering the purpose or reason you've not crossed over. I merely hesitate on behalf of my friend, as you were not well liked by this person."

"Yes, I gathered that," she responded dryly. "Although I really am not much of the threat I was, these days." She glanced down at the ground, merriment dancing in her eyes. "I am a ghost, which you have realized. What could I do? Pass through her continually until she shudders herself to death?" Wes couldn't help the small smile playing about his lips. He should have known that she would come to the same realizations that he himself had. "Although," Elizabeth continued, "if you don't want to help me, I could always go back to Caritas. You seemed to be quite cozy with The Host. He seems to be a chatty fellow. I'm sure that he'd let something slip. It might take a little longer, but I think I could get answers out of him."

Wes heard the vaguely threatening tone underlying her words, but also saw the desperation in her eyes. And his decision was made. Max was a self-sufficient young lady who had little to fear among the regular populace of their lives. What harm could bringing a ghost do? Aside of course, from bringing up painful memories and feelings. But Wes brushed aside that pesky detail. There wasn't even proof as yet that Max would even see this nemesis in her altered state. Firstly though, he needed to restore the good humor between them. "Yes, Lorne can be quite chatty. But you needn't try that tactic. I'll take you to my friend."

Elizabeth nodded, a little relief creeping into her eyes. And then her eyebrows drew together. "Lorne? The Host's name is Lorne?" At Wes' nod, she began to laugh, her head thrown back in abandonment. When the laughter finally trailed off, she noticed the perplexed question in his eyes. "Oh you know, Lorne Green…"

"Ah yes," he nodded wisely, a joke long forgotten. "Of Bonanza fame. Angel noticed the same thing."

"Angel? Your friend?"

"Ah no," Wes shook his head. "My friend's husband. Although he's my friend as well. Or rather we were friends and co-workers before they met. But she's my friend now too. In fact, her father and I are colleagues that go back a ways." Elizabeth looked as if she had more questions to ask, but wasn't quite certain where to start. She glanced off to her right and Wes realized that they had come full circle and had arrived back at the cemetery. When she turned back to him, it was with a speculative gleam in her eye.

"Don't take this wrong," she began, "but as much as I'd like to see this friend of yours, there's something I need to get first."

"O-oh," Wes stammered, surprised by the fierce, possessiveness her face held. "Of course." And then again realization dawned on him. "Ah and as it's an actual thing, you need me to retrieve it for you." She nodded and waited for him to accept her unspoken proposal. Wes sighed and gestured ahead of them in a general direction. "Shall we?"

Elizabeth naturally took the lead, seeing how she knew where the thing was and precisely what she wanted. She led him deep into the graveyard and to Wes' surprise, nothing bothered them. Even though he and Buffy had been there an hour earlier and patrolled, Vampires had the annoying habit of returning to places they'd been before. Finally however, she stopped before a large tomb. Wes forgot his nervousness and rushed forward. For some reason, cemeteries were not his foray, even with all the time spent in Sunnydale and he'd never had occasion to wander them, seeing the splendor of what had been buried there. And he knew now that he'd give over time in the future for doing so.

"This is marvelous," he breathed, his eyes taking in the white marble building. Etched into the door of the mausoleum were hieroglyphics of some ancient language. Wes brought his hand up, clearing away the mossy vines that had grown down, curling about the words like a veil, protecting them from eyes unseen. "Oh yes," he murmured, inching so close that his nose was almost pressed against the building material.

"I'm so glad you like it," Elizabeth grunted. "Can you read that?"

"Oh, I'm sure I could translate it," Wes nodded his head quickly, his excitement taking hold, coursing through his veins. "I could get my books and return-!"

"I'll save you the trouble," she sighed. She moved to stand beside him, her hand hovering near each glyph as she read them. _"Herein lies the woman who watches. In darkness she abides. For the light she strives."_

"Curious," Wes grinned. "Is that Egyptian or…?"

"Etruscan," she supplied. "My grandmother taught me."

"Interesting."

Again, Elizabeth crossed her arms, waiting for him to move. She could have gone ahead into the tomb, but she had the feeling that it would have been pointless. If he were not encouraged to continue she figured this Wesley would have stood at the entrance most of the night, applying his logistical brains to analyzing the find step by step. And there was the fact that she couldn't physically handle the thing she'd been searching for and had found. She needed him to do that. She cleared her throat and Wes' hands came up guiltily to remove his glasses from his face. He gestured towards the door with them.

"I suppose we should," he murmured as she nodded, an exasperated grin on her face. He nodded as well and pushed the glasses up onto his nose. He slipped one hand into the pocket that held the stake he'd taken care to put there and with the other hand shoved hard against the door. It swung inwards with a little effort, not as heavy as he would have expected. He gasped when he stumbled in, not from the unexpectedness of the door giving way, but by the fact that the tomb was ablaze with light. He looked about, seeing endlessly burning torches in brackets all along the walls. Inside, the marble shone more brightly than the moon had allowed outside. It seemed, cleaner, purer almost as if there were a otherworldly presence in their midst. Aside from the ghost, naturally. Wes felt the urge to run back outside and purify his hands before daring to touch anything within.

Instead he took to studying his surroundings even more. The tomb was huge and appeared to house more than one sarcophagus. They lined the walls, square enclosure, each one filled with a coffin. Whether the coffins were occupied or not, Wes wouldn't venture an assumption. The one that interested him and apparently Elizabeth was set firmly in the center of the open area. She stood beside it, looking down upon the covering a wistful look covering her featured. Wes blinked rapidly as he saw tears come to her eyes. He moved to stand beside her, intrigued as to what had her in this unfamiliar state. He could tell already that Elizabeth, in life, had not been a woman given over to emotional outbursts or the weakness of tears. He knew that was how she would see it.

_'Elizabeta Matin'_, he read. He looked up at her as she sniffled.

"My grandmother," she confirmed quietly. Wes looked back down, puzzled to see the small crack under the woman's name. He crouched down a little, following the crack as it ran outwards, to the edge of the stone fixture.

"It looks as if someone has tried to open it," he murmured.

"I'm not surprised," Elizabeth grunted, stepping back out of his way. "There's a great treasure buried within."

"Oh yes, of course," Wes nodded, babbling a little. "Your grandmother naturally."

"She's not in there," Elizabeth laughed a little. "Not that she wasn't a treasure. No, there's something far more important in here. The truth."

"Yes," Wes frowned slightly. "Truth is a prize, but who precisely would be fighting for it enough to disturb the tomb of the dead?" He really shouldn't have asked, he realized. He was well acquainted with those forces that sought truth and the ways to twist and manipulate it. "But how do you know that your grandmother is not buried here?"

"I popped in and had a look about," Elizabeth snarled at him, clearly bothered by the fact that she'd had to do so. "What did you think I did?"

"Never mind," Wes waved a peaceful hand. "So what is in there that contains the truth?"

"A book," she answered simply. "But according to legend, it can only be removed in the presence of a woman who watches."

Wes' thoughts went briefly back to the glyphs outside. "Can I assume that these women were part of some group or sect?" She nodded. "And you were one of them?" Again she nodded. "You do realize that a ghostly presence may not be enough to fulfill the requirements of this legend?" A nod and a graceful shrugging of shoulders. "All right then," he shrugged himself. "Let's give it a try."

Elizabeth stepped a little closer to the sarcophagus; enough that Wes' hair was trying to stand on end. Whispers if icy coldness flowed through his arm, but he didn't dare ask her to step back. It seemed she had quite the stake in this venture. He prepared himself for another rough attempt at pushing cool, heavy marble from its mooring. Again he was surprised by the ease with which the covering lid came away. The cover rotated, almost as if it had been designed to at his merest touch. And the lower end promptly swung around, nudging his behind as if to remind him to keep a reverent tongue in his head when he would have sworn.

He cleared his throat and straightened up. But Elizabeth didn't notice. She was peering into the open coffin below. Wes looked as well and there, as promised was the book she had sought. He glanced at her again and understood that she was waiting for him. Slowly, he reached down; wondering what event might be in store for him. But nothing impeded him and his fingers closed around the book. He pulled it up from its resting-place and turned around so that the light of the torches fell fully upon it. It was not black as he'd first believed, but a deep red, almost blood red. Writing, another hieroglyph it appeared, graced the front cover, looking as if it had been burned into the leather of the journal he held.

"Is that a glottal stop?" he asked, lifting his glasses to peer closely at it. Elizabeth burst out laughing at his slightly disgusted tone. She found a strange humor in the situation. That he couldn't immediately read the door, yet he recognized the rarely used symbol representing a guttural sound made in certain languages.

"Go on," she encouraged when the laughter finally died away. "Open it up."

Wes did as directed. He was relieved though, when he found that the words were in French, not glyphs as he'd thought they would be. _'The diary of Elizabeta Matin, ´_ He inhaled sharply. "This will be fascinating reading."

"So read already!"

"Oh oh, yes," he chuckled. She was certainly impatient. He turned over to the first page, carefully smoothing the pages flat. Again he had the feeling as if he should clean his hands, or put on gloves. Anything to keep from sullying the page with his touch. But forcing himself to ignore the feeling, he read aloud from the journal, translating as he went. _'For the daughters that come after me, for the daughters that must know, who do not have a guide in this terrible battle, I keep this journal. Long have I stood in the darkness, waiting for the day when She would come. Waiting for the day that She would discover me and the gift we have for her. Forged in secrecy, this gift will be hers, to be used as She sees fit. May it be a light in her darkness. I will go and wait, hidden from the Shadow Men. But before I return to the Scythe, I give over my life so that someday, someone will know the truth. This is my story.'_

"No," Elizabeth breathed, her eyes wide and worried.

"Amazing," Wes sighed in awe. As soon as he'd seen he words 'Shadow Men' and 'Scythe', he'd known precisely what the book was. Giles and then Buffy had told him of the Slayer's encounter with the old woman. The only person who knew anything about the Scythe, the weapon that had turned the battle in the Slayers' favor in the war against the First. And now here he was, holding the key to the mystery behind it, holding it in his hands.

"No!" Elizabeth yelled. Wes, startled, glanced up at the woman. Her eyes were furious and he cringed back a little from her, wondering what had angered her so badly. "That's not right! Scythe? What the hell is she talking about?"

"What do you mean, it's not right?" he demanded, unknowing of the knowledge she'd carried around all her life.

"It wasn't a thing we were protecting," she exploded. "Not a… a Scythe!"

"What were you protecting?" he demanded softly, a feeling of mild dread settling in his chest. Elizabeth looked up at him, appearing defeated.

"A girl," she admitted softly, the weight of guilt pulling heavily at her. "Just a girl." She started suddenly as the book snapped shut. She stared at Wes as a look of implacable will came over his body.

"I think it's time we go visit my friend," he declared. She cocked her head to the side, silently questioning. "I believe you knew her as X5-452."


	5. One Woman's Dream

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)

Restive Nature

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor.

Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".

Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.

Chapter Five

One Woman's Dream

Elizabeth ran after Wes as he hurried back to his car. Questions burned through her mind. How was it possible that 452 were here? In this time and place? But her companion didn't seem inclined to drop any more tidbits. He reached his car, his fingers absently finding the keys. He juggled them impatiently as he shifted the journal aside and swiftly unlocked the door. He was about to slide in when he caught the resigned look on her face.

"The car?" she reminded him absently, then gestured to herself. "Ghost?"

"Oh just get in," he growled. She rolled her eyes. "Look, you're walking aren't you? Why haven't you just slid through the pavement? What's holding you up?" She gaped dumbly in realization and had she been corporeal, Wes would have sworn she'd blush. "Look, just imagine yourself riding in the car and it will be fact. As long as you believe you can."

"What a load of bunk," she murmured, even as she inserted herself through the door and into the passenger seat. She had to stop herself from buckling up. Wes climbed in, tucking the book under the armrest between them. He pulled his door shut, did buckle himself in and with barely a glance at his passenger, started the car. He headed towards the Hyperion, hoping that Max and Angel were still up. Well, that Max was. With her shark DNA, it was almost a given. But he pondered the wisdom of Angel being awake to offer emotional support to his wife. There were just so many variables

"I think perhaps you'd better tell me everything," Wes urged in a low voice as he pulled out onto the street.

"Everything?" Elizabeth questioned humorlessly. "That could take a while."

"We might as well start somewhere," Wes countered. He wasn't exactly angry, just anxious to understand. "Now, you were one of these 'women who watch'?" he asked. He didn't need to see her nod. "And what precisely were you watching?"

"Like I said," she stressed the words heavily, "we were watching for a girl." She sighed, seeing no other course but the one he'd presented. To tell him the tale she had kept secret from all people in the world but two. Her grandmother and Sandeman. "I told you that I lived a good deal with my grandmother. When I was old enough, she explained the destiny of her calling. Eons ago, our sect were made aware of a prophecy. That in the end of days, all our lives would depend on the actions of one girl. The women set out to discover everything we could about this girl. Who she was, what the end of days would be, everything. But over time, she didn't come. Unbelievers fell away from the group. Until finally, it was down to my grandmother. She never lost faith."

"What about your mother?" Wes asked carefully.

"She never believed," Elizabeth answered dryly, as if it should have been obvious.

"And you did?"

"At first," she replied, hesitant. Here she was, with a man she barely knew, but who knew her, or of her, baring the deepest, most secret part of her soul. But once begun, she could hardly stop. "When I was a teenager, being abandoned so often by my parents, I was searching for something. Some purpose in my life."

"And you're grandmother provided that?"

"Love, direction, a purpose, yes," she agreed softly. "But then I went back with my parents. My mother belittled the women who gave their lives over to this prophecy. She said it hadn't come true in thousands of years. It wasn't about to come true in her lifetime and she knew it wouldn't come true in mine. So I stopped believing."

Wes glanced sharply at her. Even if he wasn't the most proficient at it, he'd still learned to read people to an extent. "No, you didn't."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, as she understood that he'd seen to the heart of the matter. She hadn't stopped believing. But the story, the ideal had become that to her. Nothing more than a dream to one day hope for. The worst part of the disillusionment had been, never knowing how this girl might one day save them. As a teen, Elizabeth had envisioned herself, discovering the girl, standing by her side as she fought honorable battles, going down in a blaze of glory, forever remembered as the woman who'd helped avert an apocalypse of biblical proportions. "It became more of a fairy tale than anything else, I suppose," she finally told him. He nodded. "When my parents died and I went back to her, I… I humored her. Pretended that I believed, even as I laughed over her devotion to the cause." She glanced out the window as buildings flew by. "I think she knew how I felt. But she never reproached me over it."

"So you began to study medicine?" Wes prompted her when she would have stayed silent, lost in remorse over the ill-mannered behavior of a self-absorbed, grieving teenager.

"Yes. And when I returned to America, and met him-!"

"Him?"

"The man whose ideals restored my faith," Elizabeth laughed at the absurdity of their conversation. All grand tones and sweeping observations of the philosophical nature. "I'm sure it sounds utterly ridiculous, but he had a dream. And one evening, after this professor and I had run into each other, I discovered that he'd been given the same purpose in life. To find this girl."

"Sandeman?" Wes remarked sharply. Elizabeth, slightly surprised that he knew so much, tried not to show it. But she nodded all the same. If he knew of Sandeman, then he might know of Manticore. He truly did know who she was, what she had done. "And you said that he was the one that led you into the military?"

"He told me of his family, the familiars," she explained and then hesitated. But he didn't ask who the familiars were. She was glad she didn't have to go into that. It was a long and boring account. "The problem was, Sandeman wasn't sure were the girl was going to come from. He was inspired to… well…"

"Create her," Wes supplied dryly. "And I assume that there were certain conditions that had to be met in her creation? Such as perfect DNA?"

"That was one of them, yes."

"So how did you fit in?"

"At the time I met him, he'd begun work on the X5 series," she continued. "He needed someone to watch his back for him. So I worked my way into a position where I could watch the familiars, warn him if they came after him. I had suspicions, knowing of their breeding line, that the girl might come from them. And I also began to work in the army, aiming for Manticore. When I was high enough up, Sandeman brought me in. He'd managed to create the X5's, but things were getting dangerous for him. I caught rumblings from the familiars and warned him. He fled, but not before he was able to tell me that the girl was among us."

"Max?"

She nodded again, waiting, as they finally seemed to have arrived at their destination. She glanced out the window at the imposing structure of a hotel. She glanced back at him, but didn't question the place. He shut the engine off and turned to her. Evidently, he wanted the rest of the tale before he took her in. "I didn't know at the time, which one it was. There were hundreds of X5's. Of course, only one third of them were girls. It took time, but I was finally in a position to where I could get my hands on them. I had each and every one of those girls tested. But none of them were the One."

"You realized it had to have been one of the escapees," Wes frowned. Elizabeth sighed as she remembered the furious rage she'd endured upon that epiphany. She'd torn her office apart in fury.

"Yes, one of five girls," she murmured. "I maneuvered my way into command over Donald Lydecker, who at the time was in charge of finding those soldiers that had escaped. He'd already gotten back one, they called her Brin. I had her tested, even though she'd been ill. It wasn't her." Her eyes darkened momentarily before she continued. "And then Deck discovered that one of the women had a family. Had bred a child, containing some of her genetically superior traits. I was… overjoyed."

"But it wasn't the right one?"

"No. I really thought that she was the one," Elizabeth growled, frustrated still at the memory of her elation, then disappointment. "You see, in all tests performed, breeding X5's back to humans, the offspring were surprisingly normal, containing no hereditary genetics of the superior parent. That little boy was a certifiable genius. Deck surmised that it was something in the woman, Tinga's genes that allowed her traits to be passed on."

"I take it that you didn't see things that way."

She shook her head. "No, all I could see was what I had dreamed of since I was a teen. The one woman in the entire world that could save us. And I had found her." She drew in a deep, unnecessary breath. "All this before me, I was utterly determined to find her. And when we at last had her in our custody, I had to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that this girl was the one."

"What did you do to her?" Wes questioned softly. He could have sworn there were tears in her eyes.

"I had her taken to a facility to extract information of her body," she continued, somewhat shakily. "But it wasn't what I was looking for. Deck was right. There was nothing of her that I had been searching for. There was simply an anomaly that allowed her to pass on her traits. She wasn't the one." She looked away, still unable to completely come to terms with what she had done, what she had turned into. "When I discovered this, I was beyond angry. Beyond rage. It felt like something broke inside me. For so long, I had carried this hope in me. I lost that. The kids… those kids to me, were what made me lose that hope. And I took it out on them. I had her contained within a machine, to keep her alive, but basically brain dead, in case I could use her some way in the future. But the others…I punished them. I used them, for my own purposes. I knew they were more than soldiers. People in their own right. But I ignored that. I made them hate themselves for what they were, for feeling when I said they shouldn't. Made them go on missions to satisfy my hatred of them. I took sick pleasure in every failure of a soldier that would have been a triumph of a moral, upright, feeling human."

"What happened to change that?" Wes whispered.

"We caught 452," she whispered back, unable to speak more loudly as she relived all the misery she'd caused. "Her brother sacrificed his life for her. I did everything I could to play on those fears and insecurities she had. But she surprised me." She laughed, bitterly. "She took everything I put on her and came out stronger. I thought I had found a weakness in her, by keeping 599 alive. But she still defied me. I went after Eyes Only, hoping to break her. But she assured me that I would never win. I put her in the breeding program to shame her. But she refused to co-operate. Finally, I arranged for her to be the killer, the poison I told her she was. I sent her to kill Eyes Only. Oh, I knew immediately that she cared for him. It would have killed her to be the instrument of his death. I knew it and I did it anyway."

She was crying now. Luminescent tears rolling down her translucent skin. Wes was shaken by the depth of emotion she was sharing with him. Never before had he considered what had driven the enemy of his friend. And while sickened by her actions, he certainly understood how the disillusionment of something she'd held dear her entire life being torn away from her could cause such a breakdown.

Elizabeth swiped at the tears on her cheeks, squaring her shoulders once more. She was mortified to have broken down before this stranger. But seeing the understanding in his eyes gave her the strength to continue. "When she left on her mission, escaped, the news came that it had been her all along. I was so… so stunned. I can't even begin to explain what was going through my mind at the time. It was like I was on automatic pilot. Here was the girl I had been searching for. All I could do was call Sandeman and tell him that we had found her. He wanted me to bring her home. I agreed. I figured that when 494 brought her in to trade her life for the antidote for Eyes Only, I would take her with me. But word came that we had been exposed. Manticore, I mean. I had orders to cauterize the site, destroy the facility. I gathered what information I could. I think, in some ways, I was glad to be rid of that burden around my neck. The hatred was still there, despite realizing that 452 was our savior. I had lived with it so deep within that I couldn't just let it go. So I did nothing to save those kids."

"But Max saved them?" Wes knew that she had, but he could see what Elizabeth needed so desperately. She needed redemption. The one thing Wes and his friends seemed to specialize in. This was why Lorne had sent him.

"She returned, without 494," the woman explained slowly. "She released the soldiers. Set them free. I ordered my men to find her and return her to me, alive. But she found me first. She wanted the antidote. All I could think of was that we had to get out of there. Had to get to Sandeman. And then it would be over. I could rest. But she was determined to save her friend's life. I gave her the antidote, but one of my men returned. He tried to shoot her."

"But you stepped in the way," he recalled. "And told her to find Sandeman." She nodded.

"And then I died," she murmured. "I was done."

"Amazing," Wes sighed. They were silent for many minutes. Absorbing this information for the first time on Wes' part. Elizabeth going over what she could have done differently. Finally, she turned back to him.

"I have one question, though," she frowned. "How did 452 come to be here? In this time?"

"Oh," Wes grinned at her. "That's easy. You see, she died too."


	6. Je Trouve En Ciel

Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)

Restive Nature

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O'Connor.

Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".

Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.

Chapter Six

Je Trouve En Ciel

"Sh-she died?" Elizabeth spat out. Her eyes widened as she took in the Hyperion once more. "What the hell kind of sick game is this?" she demanded, her hand reaching for the door handle of the car, and in her desperation to be away from the cruel prankster, forgot that she couldn't grip it. She watched her hand slide through the cool metal and realized that she indeed had a much more astonishing method of disappearing. She shoved her leg through the implacable door and simply removed herself from the car.

Wes took this in; suddenly realizing that she'd grossly misunderstood his words. Well, she actually hadn't. But she wasn't quite sticking around for the rest of the story. He snatched her grandmother's journal from under the armrest, the keys from the ignition and hurried after her.

"Elizabeth! Wait!" he called after her as she walked stiffly away from him. She spun around, the fire back in her eyes.

"Wait for what?" she demanded angrily. "For you to tell me next that… oh I don't know, my grandmother's ghost is flitting somewhere about, ready to wreak havoc on my senses for the sins I've committed."

Wes stared at her, puzzled. "I don't understand," he began, but she cut him off.

"I died!" she yelled. "I died for her. She had to live. How can she save the world if she's dead?" Huh? Tell me that!" Wes chuckled, which only fuelled her anger. Truly, it looked as if she would strike him, if she could.

"Yes," he finally managed. "She did die. But she was reborn, or well remade, I'm not quite sure of the proper terminology that would apply in this case. I'll have to think about that, because both terms have merit-!"

"Wesley!" she screamed into his face. He shrank back as she smiled nastily at him. "Focus."

"O-oh, yes," he muttered, fighting the urge to stand up straight and make sure that his glasses were still resting in their proper place. "In any event, Max was resurrected on this plane two years ago in our time."

"So she's alive?" Elizabeth sighed heavily. She didn't know if it was relief she felt, but there was something. He nodded and gestured towards the hotel.

"If you'd like to see for yourself," he offered. Elizabeth weighed the offer carefully. But in the end, she knew that she needed to see for it firsthand. It was just another piece of the puzzle.

"Why did she come here?" Elizabeth asked softly as they made their way into the lobby. She noticed Wes glancing around, presumably for someone. She could just imagine how it looked to the outsider. To those who couldn't see her. He'd appear quite mad.

"She wasn't done," Wes intoned. "Sandeman came here." He waited for her expected gasp of surprise before continuing. "He told us of the prophecy. But what you may or may not know, was that it wasn't Max whom you were waiting for."

"It wasn't?" she asked in so quiet a voice that Wes felt more than heard it.

"No," he shook his head. "We were waiting for her child."

He led the stunned woman down to Max and Angel's apartment. Questions rolled through her mind, but she could not give voice to them. Wes stopped before the door and listened for a moment. Both he and Elizabeth could hear movement within. He raised his hand and knocked gently. After a brief time, the door swung open and Angel stood there. Wes forced back the grin that threatened to take over his face. His friend and employer looked completely harassed. Eyes bloodshot, hair sticking out at all angles.

"Hey Wes," he greeted softly then glanced back over his shoulder. "What did you need?"

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," Wes apologized swiftly, "especially so late at night. But I need to talk to Max."

"Yeah sure," Angel agreed and stepped back to let his friend in. Wes saw right away what had Angel in such a state. Max was in the corner of the living room, the rocking chair that normally resided in Eva's room being put to heavy use. The little girl, wrapped in her mother's embrace was clearly not happy. Her soft crying reached Wes' ears and he moved to sit on the sofa. Max smiled tiredly at her friend, then glanced up at her husband.

"Angel, would you?" she asked. He nodded, though it seemed he was at a loss for something. Max stood, the tot still in her arms, but the crying didn't cease.

"Has she been like this long?" Wes asked politely. Even as standoffish as he could be, he adored that little girl and her pain was nearly his own. Just as it was for everyone at the hotel. Max rolled her eyes.

"Most of the night," she informed him. Angel took her place in the rocking chair. "Dad thinks it's just colic. But I'm about ready to break down and call the doctor."

"Maybe I could take her for a bit," he suggested, completely out of the blue. "Give your arms a rest?" Angel was already nodding and Max had started towards him. She stopped abruptly, about a foot away from him. He watched her carefully, having seen this behavior from her on a few occasions. Normally it meant that something unseen was troubling her. Not surprisingly, it was usually reserved for when a demon was near. She looked sharply at Wes, but seemed to relent. He understood her concern, that she was wondering about what appeared to be her friend. But then her gaze flew to the front door. She stared at it, perplexed. Wes followed her line of vision and wasn't surprised to see Elizabeth hovering nervously there. He gave a slight jerk of his chin and she hesitantly glided forward. He looked up again at Max; startled to see her following the ghost's movements, even though he was sure she couldn't see what it actually was. "It's okay Max," he assured her. She waited a heartbeat then looked back down at him.

"Okay," she whispered and settled her still crying daughter in his arms. She settled on the coffee table before him and waited, still slightly tense, as Angel had become, taking his cues from his wife. Wes was touched by the amount of faith she was showing by trusting him with the one thing she would unwaveringly give her life for. He arranged Eva on his lap so that the little girl was facing Elizabeth. The woman, without thought, settled herself beside Wes on the couch, turned so that she could see the miracle child she'd searched for her entire life and death. Eva stilled, her tears cutting off abruptly. Angel sighed in relief, even though he hadn't missed any of the by-play going on around him.

Elizabeth looked only, at first. Smiling, as the little girl's eyes seemed to take her in. She watched Wes soothingly rub the baby's back. And of it's own accord, her hand reached out to the appealing creature before her. And then laughed as Eva let out a loud belch. All the adults laughed, but the child was quiet.

"I guess Giles was right," Angel chuckled. Wes noticed Elizabeth's eyes come up sharply to focus on the other man, recognizing Sandeman's true name. He grunted slightly, conveying agreement to the O'Connor's and an 'I'll explain later' to Elizabeth. She turned her attention back to the child. Her hand whispered against the little girl's cheek and to her surprise, the baby laughed and squealed.

"Oh," Elizabeth cried, amazed that she was actually feeling the gentle skin of the baby's chubby face. "She's the One. I can feel it!" She didn't need Wes' confirmation. She set her hand agonizingly close to the completion she'd sought, joy pouring through her. Despite everything that she had done, or not done, her grandmother's dream had come to fruition. It was a staggering moment for the woman. Finally though, when the child drifted asleep, it was time for her to go. With a beatific smile for the man who had made this possible, she rose from her perch. She turned to face him again. "Thank you Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." He simply smiled. She turned then to Max.

"You'll never know how sorry I am for all the things I have done 45-! Max!" she corrected herself, another tear pooling in the corner of her eye. "But I wish on you all the happiness this world has to offer." And without another word, she wisped away from their abode.

"So?" Max leaned forward, visibly relaxing, her voice a whisper. "You gonna tell me what the hell that was about?"

Wes continued to rub small circles on Eva's back as he smiled up at his friend. "I don't quite think you'd believe me if I did."

"Try me."

A few days later, Wes strolled into Caritas, feeling marginally better. He'd shared the story of the entire evening with Max and Angel. They'd been slightly skeptical, but had considered what he told them. He offered the journal, still in his possession as proof. Angel had glanced over it and commented that Giles would find it interesting if nothing else. The next day, Wes had set to work translating the journal. And funny enough, Max had asked to read the translation when he was done. It was all he'd been working on recently and finally Cordelia had shooed him out of the office. Demanded that he go relax somewhere. So he'd made his way to Caritas.

"Howdy there Ghostbuster," Lorne trilled when he caught sight of Wes stepping through the barrier.

"Hello Lorne," Wes grinned.

"I see you're in a better mood," Lorne commented, signaling one of the bartenders. The man nodded and set to work on another round of drinks.

"Yes," Wes agreed. "I don't seem to have had much time on my hands for moping about lately."

"And the world is grateful," Lorne joked. "Believe me. But since you're here, maybe you could do me a favor?"

Wes grinned and shrugged, not so bothered anymore by people depending on him all the time. "What's that?" Lorne turned slightly and pointed to a dark corner of the room.

"You could finish your mission," he scoffed then shook his head. Wes stared at the corner he indicated, wanting to rub his eyes in shock.

"Good Lord!" he gasped. "What's she still doing here?"

"You already have the answer to that one bro," Lorne answered. "Now go make sure she knows it."

'Ah, yes,' Wes thought to himself. 'The ever elusive redemption.' It would never be over for her until she was ready to believe that and accept it without question. He wove his way through the tables to her side. She glanced up benignly, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Hello Wes."

"Hello Elizabeth."

That began a regular round of evenings. All day Wes would throw himself into work, whatever came his way. He'd finished the translation and had, as promised given a copy to Max. In the evenings, he'd take off as soon as he could, meeting Elizabeth in Caritas. He knew that she'd returned there out of courtesy for him. In a place where everyone could see her, it wouldn't be so embarrassing for him to be talking to her than say at another restaurant. They talked of themselves, their lives, the world around them, anything they could seize upon, just to beat back the loneliness that threatened them.

Wes could see every time they met, that Elizabeth was softening just a little more. He liked to think that she was finding her way back to the person she'd once been. Before she'd let the bitterness and disappointment in her life take over. And he found that he liked this person. She encouraged him when he would have been too shy to recount silly tales of his childhood. She defended his work when he felt useless. She just in general made him feel better about himself. And he wished he could do the same for her.

That chance came about unexpectedly. Max had approached him at his home, which was unusual. Especially since she'd just seen him at the hotel. She had read through the journal of Elizabeta Matin and had read through his notes on how this prophecy had applied to her world and original time. She was there to ask him, would he take her to Elizabeta's place. To the tomb of the Women Who Watched. He had agreed. But first, he wanted Elizabeth to know. It took nearly an hour to convince her, as she was sure that Max wasn't going there for any altruistic purposes. But Wes pointed out that even as Max didn't know the true Renfro, neither did Elizabeth know the person who lay behind the barcode. So she agreed to come. To see what Max desired to accomplish by her visit.

Max was already at the cemetery when Wes and Elizabeth arrived from Caritas. She spoke not a single word, but preceded them into the graveyard. Wes was sure by her demeanor that she still didn't see Elizabeth, but wondered if she still sensed the ghost. The pair followed along behind her, stunned to see Max moving straight towards the tomb.

"Max?" Wes asked hesitantly. She paused, outside the entryway, not looking back at him.

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I just sort of… feel drawn here."

"Well then, by all means," he chuckled nervously. "Let's go." Elizabeth was strangely or maybe not so strangely quiet as they again entered the tomb. They all carried a reverence with them. As he'd expected, the torches were still blazing brightly. A small gasp escaped Max as she took in the large tomb, housing the spirits of all those who had come before her nemesis.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, clearly in awe. Wes watched as Elizabeth moved around to look full into Max's face. "I…" her head bowed and Wes moved to wrap a comforting arm around Max's shoulder.

"It's okay Max," he soothed her. She shook her head.

"I never gave much thought to the people associated with Manticore," she admitted brokenly. "They were the enemy, you know?" He nodded. "I mean, I thought about the woman who gave birth to me. My brothers and sisters and later on the rest of the transgenics. How could I not think about them? They were in my face, every day. But the Manticore people, I hated them for what they did to us."

"Quite understandable," he whispered as he looked over Max's head. He could again see tears in Elizabeth's eyes, but she made no move to defend herself from the anger she felt she so rightly deserved.

"I never imagined that they might have dedicated themselves to saving the world," Max chuckled suddenly. "It was just… so much easier to see them as money grubbing political beings. You know? Interested in their own desires and what we could do for them. What we could gain or destroy for them."

"And what changed your mind?" Wes asked.

"You did," she admitted softly, smiling up at him.

"Me?" Wes gaped at her in shock. That certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected.

"Yeah you," she giggled as she nudged him in the side. "Here was this guy who had no special talents aside from researching circles around other people, but he had the desire to fight evil where he found it. He got hurt, he lost heart sometimes. But every day, he kept fighting it. And it occurred to me, that maybe there were more people like this guy."

"Well of course," Wes tried to deflect the admiration in her tone away from him.

"No Wes," she interrupted sharply. "Don't deny that you're an important member of the team. And more than that, you're one of the best people I know. You helped me to see that…oh argh!"

"What?" His head whipped back around to stare at Elizabeth, who was giggling. Giggling? Max was silent, so the ghost took it upon herself to explain.

"She's getting all touchy feely," Elizabeth smiled. "She's trying to be a soldier. But I don't think she can ever be that again. She's a mother now. A wife. She's where she's meant to be, even though she wasn't trained for this." A tear rolled down Max's cheek and Wes wondered if she had heard Elizabeth's understanding words.

"If Renfro hadn't infected me with that virus," Max continued finally, "then my life would have turned out much differently." She paused and looked up at Wes. "If she hadn't told me to find Sandeman, then I might never have come here. And then I would never have had Eva. Indirectly, Renfro helped give me the greatest gift I've ever received. It's big!"

"It certainly is," Wes agreed mildly.

Max gestured to the tombs around them. "If these women hadn't dedicated their lives to finding Buffy. If those women in my world hadn't devoted themselves to finding me, what would have become of our worlds?" She grew contemplative again. "Maybe I've realized that for all the evils committed, every little bit of our actions count. Every thing I do, or you do, all the things that Eva might do, it all counts towards the final answer. For all the sins Renfro committed, she came through in the end."

"That she did," Wes sighed. Elizabeth had bowed her head, allowing the softly forgiving words Max spoke to roll over her.

"And I hope she knows…" Max swallowed heavily. "I hope she knows that I forgive her."

As if they were magical words, and in some way they were, Elizabeth's head snapped up. Wesley watched the beauty of lightness of being and soul come over her. And then she was gone.

Max buried her head into Wes' shoulder, shivering as the lights within the tomb dimmed. He tightened his hold as they sputtered and died completely. "Wes?"

"It's okay," he calmed her.

"What's going on?"

"Je trouve en ciel," he whispered.

"What!"

He chuckled; forgetting that Max wasn't quite the proficient at languages that he was. He glanced down at her. "She found her Heaven."

"Good," Max nodded, speaking around the lump in her throat. "I'm glad."

They waited a few more minutes, the darkness in the tomb doing nothing to lessen the peace that flowed through them. Finally Wes tugged his arm from around her. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah," Max nodded and turned back to the doorway. Wes led the way out stopping when he felt Max hesitate. He turned back to see her looking longingly at the inscription on the marble door. She had pulled the door shut and her fingers were now lovingly tracing over the glyphs. "It feels like a dream."

And indeed it did.

Translation-

Je trouve en ciel- I am finding Heaven


End file.
